


Robert's Heirs

by erudessa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erudessa/pseuds/erudessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Baratheon ascended the throne. He made Lyanna Stark his queen. It should have been the ending to a song...Yet fifteen years later, his children are still bastards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lyanna flinched as Robert drunkenly pressed against her on their wedding night. His stinking breath hot against her face with spittle dribbling from his mouth as he pressed open mouthed kisses along her jaw bone. Her stomach roiled and churned. His hand grasped her breast and pinched her nipple. Wistfully she thought of Rhaegar, at least he had always been gentle with her. More wine filled breath filled her nostrils as Robert murmured in her ear.

“Shhh…..tha..that silvered haired shit is gone now,” he slurred as he felt her cringe. “I..I’ll protect you, Lya. Always.”

His hand trailed further south to cup her the apex between her legs, pushing a thick finger roughly inside her. Good thing, she’s no longer a maiden, Lyanna thought wrily. She was too dry and she braced herself as Robert pushed her onto the featherbed, pulling apart her legs in the process.

“God, you’re so beautiful, you know that….” Robert’s dazed glance traced over her naked body sprawled beneath him and groaned. She self-consciously thought of the stretch marks over her abdomen. “I love you so much..so much.”

He laid on top of her then, sweaty and sticky. And without further ado, pushed his entire length into her. Lyanna could not help but wince. But with the drink, he lasted only a short while, thrusting a few more times and spilling himself into her with a loud moan, before clumsily rolling off her and promptly fell asleep.

She was sore. Robert’s ministrations had left her feeling raw and exposed. Slowly, Lyanna pushed herself off the bed and searched for a shift and robe. Only then as she stood by window, she had enough courage to slide a small hand under her shift and touched the apex between her legs. It was sticky. As she drew her hand away, she was surprised to see blood and seed mixed grotesquely in her palm. She had not bled this much even when Rhaegar took her maidenhead. Quickly, she crossed to a basin filled with water and wet a cloth. Grimacing from the pain, she scrubbed herself furiously, muttering, “stupid, stupid, brute.”

Only when Lyanna was sure the last of the stragglers from the wedding feast had left, did she venture outside of her chambers, leaving no backward glance towards the passed out figure of Robert Baratheon. Filled with the desire to get away from everything and everyone, she found herself climbing one of the many towers in the keep. A skinny tall tower, half fallen to disuse. It had a calming effect to stamp on every step. There was also a liberating feeling as she climbed higher and higher, away from the Red Keep. She only stopped when she reached to top only to see it was occupied.

Anger flared in her and she was about to command whoever it was to leave immediately when Lyanna realised it was no other than Arthur Dayne. He turned to stare at her balanced precariously on the window ledge. Moonlight glinted off his pale blonde hair, turning it silver. His dark blue eyes seemed to become purple. It was almost as if it was Rhaegar sitting on the ledge waiting for her, to take her away. But she blinked and the mirage was gone.

A flagon was by Arthur’s feet and he clutched Dawn in his lap. A mildly surprised expression graced his features.

“Your grace, it is your wedding night, shouldn’t you be with the king?” his tone was stilted, the ‘your grace’ mocking rather than respectful.

She snorted and picked up the flagon to pour some down her throat. It tasted too sour on her tone and burned as it slid down her throat. Ignoring his jibe, Lyanna answered, “You should have taken me the other way. To the Free Cities. We could have taken Jon too.”

We could have disappeared. I could leave behind all of this. She thought bitterly. We could have forgotten our names, our pasts. And you wouldn’t have to suffer for your actions.

“You would have left your family?” Arthur was merely curious now.

“A family who can’t look at me. A family I inadvertently killed,” she retorted. A pause.

After a while, he finally asked, “Did you love him?”

Lyanna’s only response was to pour more wine down her throat. Did she love Rhaegar? Maybe she did. He had been kind to her. Tried to protect her from the war. Hiding her family’s deaths from her. Hate surged through her then. Hated Rhaegar and his sweet words. Hated herself for believing it.

“I never agreed with him, you know. But it would have been fruitless to stop him.” Arthur’s grip on Dawn tightened. His voice dropped, “Taking you back to your family was the only thing I could do.”

Slowly, she reached across and touched his cheek, feeling him tense up beneath her touch. After all time, he still only wanted to be true to his vows, a good knight. Uncertainty shined in his blue eyes. It was cruel of her, selfish, she knew. But since when had Lyanna not been selfish?

“Then help me now,” she said.

* * *

_Fifteen years later….._

Ned Stark had been in King’s Landing for two days when Jon Arryn, Hand of the King and his foster father, asked him to escort him to the Street of Steel to collect a new sword.

“Ned, your foster father is getting on in years, he needs your help to visit the Street of Steel to collect a new sword. I need you to come with me as an escort,” Jon had asked.

Ned found that strange, of course, if he truly felt threatened and unsafe in the streets of King’s Landing, he could have called one of the knights of the Vale who were part of his household or even his own personal guards. But he was not so naïve to believe a visit to a forge was the sole reason for his summons, it was merely a ruse like so many things at court. The Red Keep’s walls have ears and doors have eyes. Jon needed to tell him something he would not have others risk knowing. Indeed, no matter who sits the Iron Throne, some things never change.

However, Ned felt burdened by any such knowledge, Northerners have little taste for such intrigue. He had only come to King’s Landing to fill a Stark seat on the Small Council, Master of Laws, at the behest of Jon. It was with a heavy heart that he did so. Lyanna Stark was Queen, she needed more protection than the few Northmen who were her guards. Yet he was her only brother. A brother protecting a sister who spoke not a word to him besides a cursory, ‘well met, brother’.

But he was a Stark, Ned had promised Lyanna to tell no one of what had transpired at the Tower of Joy. The product of which was concealed as Jon Snow his bastard at Winterfell. Ned certainly did not agree with Lyanna’s impulsiveness, but blood ran thicker than water. And a Stark would do his duty to his family, always. Still, he ruefully thought of his Cat at Winterfell, of Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon, even Jon Snow who he thought was more a son to him than to his true parents, one dead, the other thousands of miles away.

They rode from the Red Keep with the smallfolk scattering around them. Jon stopped here or there to hand out coins to some of the children staring wide eyed from the slums.

“So, have you spoken to Her Grace yet?”

Ned did not miss the formality of the address, not ‘your sister’ but ‘her grace’. He thought back to Lyanna’s cold greeting. She had smiled then. But I was a smile that was far from reaching her eyes, a smile that could rival Cersei Lannister’s, Jon’s wife. The girl Rhaegar had crowned Queen of Love and Beauty had gone. In her place, well, Ned was not sure who his sister was anymore. Hardened, certainly, colder. Maybe the wolf blood has diminished replaced by ice over the years surrounded by vipers at court, he did not know. And her fierceness could easily turn into vindictiveness.

“I haven’t,” Ned confessed.

“It is no crime to visit a sister even though she is Queen.” Jon reminded.

But Ned was not sure what he should say to her should he visit her. Dragon’s whore. They called her even after fifteen years. A woman without honour, seducing one prince and marrying another king. He knew better though. It was just her impulsiveness, like Brandon. But Ned still cannot bring himself to fully forgive her for throwing away her duty, plunging the realm into disarray. Duty to his family he would do but never his full forgiveness despite his understanding. And Jon Snow certainly was not a topic to be spoken of inside the keep.

Jon looked keenly at him.

“The Queen spends much time with her children. Though she fulfils her duties, as many as she can.” Jon observed as they reached the top of the Street of Steel. Ned wondered at that. Sewing, gossip and intrigue could not possibly be something Lya would have done, duty or no duty. He gestured at the forge. “Ah, here it is. The shop of Tobho Mott, a fine smith, the only one who can work Valyrian steel this side of the narrow sea.”

Two stone knights stood guard at an imposing entrance with their red armour. Jon dismounted and tied up his palfrey while Ned followed suit. His eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the shop lit only by the light of the bellows. A young boy was beating at a new sword. He looked up as the two lords entered.

“Hello Gendry, I have come to collect my new sword?”

The boy nodded and muttered a “milord Hand.” Ned stared hard at him. He had a mop of black hair and bright blue eyes staring out of his soot covered face. If Ned did not know better, he would have called him Robert or Renly. He even had the strong jaw of the Baratheons, with their broad shoulders. A look of confusion settled over Gendry’s face as he saw Ned stare at him. He quickly looked away.

 Outside, Jon looked searchingly at him.

“Gendry is one of Robert’s bastards.”

Ned shifted uncomfortably and he paused in the midst of untying his horse. It was no secret Robert spent an inordinate amount of time on the Street of Silk, so much he was now the ‘whoremonger king’. Not to mention his various exploits with serving girls and servants. A constant reminder of his foolish hope that his love for Lyanna could curb his excessive appetite.

“Aye, one of many in King’s Landing no doubt,” Ned attempted to smile, but only managing a grimace. His best friend’s actions became a reminder that somehow he had failed his sister. It brought to unbidden to his mind the times he had tried to convince Lyanna how Robert’s love for her would keep him to her bed. Despite her flaws, she had proved to be a far better judge of character than him. Perhaps this was why he had agreed to come to King’s Landing.

“He is a spitting image of Robert when he was still young.” Jon continued. “The black hair, blue eyes. Edric Storm also had black hair and blue eyes. So do many of his other bastards.”

Ned felt a sudden flash of anger swell up inside him, he wanted Jon to stop talking about the bastards.

“Your sister, the Queen’s children all take after her, it would seem.” Jon said good-naturedly, peering concernedly into Ned’s face.

“But what can I say, Stark blood is strong.” Ned grit his teeth as he vaulted into his saddle. It was not possible for Lyanna to raise any more bastards, especially within the confines of the Red Keep. Jon Snow was a simple mistake, nothing more. The two men rode in silence back into the Keep.

It was several days later as he passed the practise yard when Jon Arryn’s words about Robert’s bastards rose instinctively to mind. Prince Brandon, the crown prince was sparring with Ser Arthur Dayne. Brandon had the Stark look, all grey eyes, long face and dark hair which contrasted sharply against Arthur Dayne’s pale hair and white armour. Princess Visenya was cheering them on, clapping her hands with eleven year old glee. She had blonde hair and blue eyes. Young Prince Tommen was dark of hair like with brother and parents and blue eyes too. Lyanna stood by, looking at her children. She dressed in grey brocade with her hair brushed and hanging around her, a reminder to all of her Stark parentage. The dress was plain against the bright colours of the other women at court, even plain against the gleaming white armour of Jaime Lannister as he leant on the rail by her.

Ned paused as grey eyes so much like his own fixed on his face. Slowly, he moved to stand by his sister. He greeted the Kingslayer with a curt nod. Tommen glanced inquisitively at him, calling him ‘Uncle Ned’. He searched for any resemblance to Robert in those blue eyes. No. The blue was a tad too dark. A stone dropped in his stomach.

“Well, your new duties have kept you too busy to visit your sister?”

Ned looked to Arthur as he stood over Brandon to correct his footwork. Arthur Dayne had brought Lyanna to King’s Landing all those years ago. Then, Ned had been too overwhelmed with relief at seeing his sister alive to process the implications of Dayne’s actions. He had been Prince Rhaegar’s closest friend and possibly helped in arranging for the duo to disappear, yet in the end he had forsaken Rhaegar’s orders and returned Lyanna. Was it because of the Prince’s death? Knowing the knight’s relentless honour, perhaps it would have been better dying because of Rhaegar than be dubbed a knight who kidnaps innocent girls by Robert. But still, he had kept Jon Snow safe with Ashara at Starfall, perhaps as homage to what little Rhaegar left behind.

“Ser Arthur, he trains the prince?” he asked.

Lyanna smiled slightly.

“I only want the best for my son. Ser Arthur is one of the best knights,” she answered easily.

Surrounded by men with so little honour, Ned thought bitterly, glancing at Jaime. Lyanna must have guessed his thoughts because she put a small hand on his arm and guided him away from the practise field.

As they walked, she said calmly, “You think I surround myself with dishonourable men. Ser Arthur Dayne, a knight who blindly follows orders, Ser Jaime Lannister, an oathbreaker. But you know I have no honour either. I forsook my duty and I know you never truly forgave me for that. You see? I am where I belong. Though I tried, you know, as Queen. I gave the realm two healthy boys after all.”

She laughed mockingly. Ned stared hard at the woman before him wearing his sister’s face and his sister’s voice. A stranger. A coldness seeped into his chest. His Lyanna would not raise bastards as if they were trueborn children of the king. But this Queen Lyanna would. And maybe he never truly knew his sweet sister.

* * *

It became a sort of ritual for them. To meet on that tower at night. Lyanna used to go after Robert’s unwanted attentions. But months after their marriage, his attention wandered in search for other beds despite his ardent confessions of love, which suited her just fine. So she continued to visit the tower.

Arthur became her guard, trailing behind her during the day. Sometimes Jaime would join them too. The court snickered, dishonourable guards to guard a dishonourable woman. She never cared really.

These visits were cathartic. It felt good to do something clandestine and completely inappropriate. She had always been attracted to those that she cannot have, just like the stack of correspondence from Rhaegar hidden behind her closet at Winterfell. Something entirely about her, for herself. Just like how Lyanna had never felt more satisfied than see blood stain her thighs when she sluiced the babe that Robert put in her from her womb with moon tea.

So when she met Arthur a few nights after, Lyanna had never felt lighter in her life. A cruel sort of gratification. Proof that she still could do what she had wanted. Her body was still hers to control.

He had been surprised when he saw the true smile that was on her face that night, though she was sure it was more of a maniacal grin. His lips were pliable when Lyanna kissed him. As she pushed him onto the ground to straddle him, he slowly wrapped his arms around her.

Lyanna had always been fascinated by his broad shoulders yet still delicate build, so much unlike Robert’s stocky and muscular body or Rhaegar’s lithe one.

Nine months later, Brandon was born. Robert boasted of his strong son as he paraded the boy around the castle and the babe wailed. In Arthur’s arms, Brandon would calm and pull playfully on the knight’s fingers.

* * *

“Stannis Baratheon has left King’s Landing for Dragonstone.”

Jon’s face was serious as he faced Ned behind his desk in his solar in the Tower of the Hand. Ned’s mouth suddenly turned dry.

“Did he suspect…?”

Jon nodded. He hesitated, “It was he who brought his suspicions to me.”

Ned balled his hands into fists. Stannis would have the most to gain by naming Lya’s children bastards. He was the heir to the Iron Throne should any accident befall Robert without any trueborn issue. But Ned could not bring himself to believe it. If it was true, why would Jon bring this to his attention? After all, it was his sister and her children’s lives at stake. Even then, the evidence itself is flimsy at best. The blood of the First Men ran in Lyanna’s veins, surely it was stronger than the blood of the Andals or Valyrians, remembering how Rhaenys looked nothing like Rhaegar. Or even Jon Snow did not resemble Rhaegar.

“Why would you tell me of this then?” Ned asked gruffly. 

Jon gently took his arm.

“This is your sister. I do not want any harm to befall her.”

He intended to tell Robert. Ned could not allow him to sully his sister’s name anymore. Perhaps, he did not want to hear any more of this matter.

“No, you have no proof. Robert will not believe his beloved Lya capable of such, Jon. Besides, who could possibly be the father?”

A flicker of disappointment crossed the older man’s features. Everything began to fall into place in Ned’s mind. Jon wanted to preserve his honour, he could not bear to see false kings sit the throne, yet he does not want the blood of children or their mother to stain his hands. Ned was an honourable man too, so he would wholeheartedly agree with Jon’s perspective. He would protect Lyanna and her children, possibly remove them from the Keep and strip them of their titles. At the same time, he would provide an army who would keep Stannis Baratheon at bay while Robert took a second wife and fathered trueborn children.

Jon pushed a tome towards him across the desk.

“Throughout history, there had been two marriages between a Stark and a Baratheon besides your sister and the king. Both marriages yielded black haired children. Many of them had blue eyes,” he said solemnly. “It wasn’t just between Starks and Baratheons, this was the same for the Lannisters and the Targaryens to name a few. Besides, all his bastards share the same trait, it did not matter that the mothers were blonde, brunette or redheaded. The Baratheon seed is too strong. I know this is difficult, Ned, but this is proof enough.”

Ned shook his shook. No. This couldn’t be true. Lya was many things, but he could not think her capable of such deceit. Yet thoughts of Jon and Rhaegar Targaryen flitted through his mind. Jon pressed a piece of parchment into his hand. On it he had written, Arthur Dayne.

“Look at the princes’ eyes and the princess’ hair,” he instructed.

Ned scrunched the paper into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace. His thoughts whirled through his head. This was not possible. Not possible. Doubt filled him as he recalled the honourable Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning. If Jon had named Jaime Lannister, it would have been credible enough. But Arthur Dayne? He could not break his vows like that. Helping Rhaegar protect Lyanna was one matter, but this? Simply ludicrous. Rhaegar was the crown prince and close friend, he had sworn to protect after all.

Yet he remembered the colour of Tommen’s eyes, they were darker than Robert’s. Now that he thought about it, he could see them flash violet. Another part of him asked why Dayne? Was it because he reminded her of Rhaegar? Or was it just Robert and his meandering ways?

* * *

Lyanna did not entertain the ladies of court more than what was absolutely necessary. They were no more than a rumourmongering bunch who pounced had any sign of weakness.  But sometimes she would invite Cersei around for tea. The woman who prided herself to be Tywin Lannister with teats was just as trapped in her role as the wife to the hand. Cersei was the second powerful woman in court but still reduced to nothing besides the wife of a powerful man. So Lyanna had a strange sort of kinship with her on a good day when waves of resentment did not flow from the other woman in waves.

Cersei Lannister was more beautiful, more queenly than Lyanna would ever been, yet overlooked twice for any chance of queenship. First, she was passed over by Elia Martell and then by Lyanna herself, both women could only hold a candle to the sun from the Westerlands.

I would gladly have given you Robert and a crown, if it meant I could be free, Lyanna thought bitterly.

News had reached her of Stannis Baratheon leaving for Dragonstone and Jon Arryn’s sudden interest in Robert’s bastards. Fifteen years was a long time to accumulate her own little network of birds, though Lyanna preferred to think of them as parasites. She would not see her children suffer. So she would have to resign herself to try her hand at court games.

For the realm, she thought drily. Aren’t you pleased with me, father, Ned? I’m doing my duty now.

Cersei inclined her head and muttered a ‘your grace’ as Lyanna smiled brightly at her.

“My lady Cersei! You look truly radiant!”

For once, that was not a lie. In her crimson and gold gown that elegantly accentuated her long neck, Cersei was still beautiful. Lyanna clasped her hand in a show of warmth, gesturing at the tea and cakes set out on the table.

“Just tea? Or something stronger perhaps?” Cersei loved Arbour wines which Lyanna had stocked fully in preparation for her arrival.

“Wine sounds good, your grace.”

Lyanna had to supress a snort. She relished to think about getting Lyanna drunk, knowing the Queen would not shy away from good competition. But Lyanna was a Northerner, Northerners hold their drink well.

It was only when Lyanna had filled the other woman’s goblet twice, suffering through small talk and evasions, that she launched her plan.

“Does your husband still object to the betrothal between Myrcella and Brandon?” she asked innocently. Cersei frowned, her pretty face twisting.

“Now more than ever. It would make his daughter queen and he does not want that,” she replied sourly. “He’s arranging for Myrcella and I to return to the Eyrie.”

So he already knows. Lyanna pretended to ponder. She leant closer to Cersei and put a hand on her arm.

“Your daughter will be Queen. She is more deserving of this than anyone.” She was ultimately her mother’s daughter.

Green eyes narrowed slightly as they focussed on Lyanna’s face. Let her think it was reparation for stealing the mother’s crown. Let her think it would place her in a high place of influence.

“Robert will make this betrothal public at the prince’s nameday.”

A small smile tugged on the corners of Cersei’s lips. It made her feel powerful, to overlook her husband, the Hand entirely. The hand cannot refuse a King’s order. She must think this a public humiliation. Yet a shadow passed over her face as Lyanna watched her closely. Brandon’s nameday was two months away.

Lyanna knew that Jon was planning to send his family away within a fortnight, having heard of his preparations in the Tower of the Hand. So she leant even closer and whispered conspiratorially in Cersei’s ear, “And if he stands between Lady Myrcella and a crown, your lord husband is getting on in years.” 

Lyanna felt disgusted with herself as Cersei’s eyes gleamed wickedly. She was sure that Jon Arryn had sealed his fate and she had a hand in it. After all, she knew of Pycelle’s closeness to the Lannisters. And Cersei Lannister was an impatient woman. The faster the better.

Then she thought of Ned. Surely he would not believe her capable of such actions? Kinslaying did not sit well with her. Perhaps, Robert himself should have an accident, she thought sourly.

* * *

Ned watched Lyanna and Arthur walking through the gardens below his window. His mind replayed events earlier at Chataya’s.

He had gingerly held the babe pressed to his chest by the whore. Wispy dark hair framed her face.

“She is such a beautiful baby,” the mother gushed as Ned passed the girl back to her.

“Are you sure this is sired by the king?”

Her eyes widened and a flush appeared on her cheeks.

“A mother always knows, milord.”

Ned did not need to know the answer. The babe looked exactly like Mya Stone.

Arthur was walking beside her instead of behind her. And she held onto his arm as they walked. He was always seen with her, the Queen only allowed him or Jaime to act as her guards. So much so that the two knights became unofficially known as the Queensguard.

Deep down, coldness gripped his heart. He knew. Visenya’s blonde hair did not come from their mother’s line, but from her true father. And if anyone watched closely, Brandon and Tommen’s eyes would flash purple in the light of dusk just like Arthur’s.

Abruptly he turned away from the window and the couple walking beneath him. Why Arthur Dayne would break his vows in such a fashion was beyond him, but it did not make him any less guilty. And oathbreakers needed to be punished.

Jon would tell Robert. In light of overwhelming proof, even Robert, stubborn as he was would ultimately believe in Lyanna’s infidelity. He loved Lyanna. His love would drive him mad with anger at her betrayal. Ned stomach coiled uncomfortably. Then Robert would probably take his warhammer and take off the heads of Lyanna and her children as well as Arthur’s. Ned rubbed circles into his temple. What have you done now, sweet sister?

That night as Ned was finishing his dinner, Jory hurriedly pushed into his solar, gasping for breath.

“My lord, the Hand, his heart failed him!”

Ned’s eyes widened momentarily. He rushed into the hall, crossed the courtyard into the Hand’s quarters. The Tower of the Hand was in uproar. He pushed through the throng of people gathered by Jon’s solar.

Inside, was Cersei Lannister who was comforting her daughter as she sobbed into her skirts while Lyanna stood beside the widow, rubbing her back. Not one tear flowed from both women. Grand Maester Pycelle clucked as he packed away his medicines. Behind the desk, Jon Arryn was slumped back in his seat, mouth agape and clutching his chest. Beside him was an empty goblet.

“Was he with anyone?” Ned demanded, cutting through the rumbling of the gathered crowd.

Cersei looked him in the eye and said, “He had insisted on being left alone.”

Ned gritted his jaw, staring hard at Lyanna who steadfastly ignored him. How convenient. At that moment, Robert entered into the solar. He commanded everyone but Ned to leave.

“I’ve sent for the Silent Sisters. He will be given a grand burial as he deserved,” Robert said, his usual gruff voice soft as he looked on Jon’s cooling body.

Ned blinked, slowly, he asked, “Do you not find it strange?”

“Ned, we see Jon as our father, a father who would always be here of us. Sometimes we forget that he is getting old. He had fallen ill more than I can count this past year when you had been in Winterfell.”

Alarm bells sounded in Ned’s head, but he held his tongue. The keep was full of informers, maybe Queen Lyanna controlled a handful of them too.

* * *

Robert had gone hunting at the crack of dawn. Ned sighed and waited in the godswood for his sister. Jon was dead. He still needed to carry out his plan.

“Ned,” Lyanna greeted him.

“I know,” he said flatly. “About the children. About Arthur Dayne.”

If she was surprised to see him, she did not show it. Instead, he watched her grey eyes harden. Ned wondered if she had a terrible fate mapped out for him too.

“What about them?” she asked, breezily.                                                                                                                    

Her audacity amazed him.

“They are your bastards born of your affair with him. Just like Jon Snow.”

Lyanna laughed a hollow laugh. All her laughs were like that now.

“It would seem I have an affinity for bastards.”

Ned shifted uncomfortably.

“Aren’t you going to deny it?”

Part of him wanted her to explain. To tell him that his suspicions were misplaced. To explain. Yet her silence gripped tightly onto his heart.

Lyanna stepped closer to him and cupped his cheek, looking him straight in the eye.

“We’re both Starks. We love honesty, despite all this.” She gestured around her. “Surely you would rather hear the truth from your sister? I have never lied to you, Ned. I will not start now.”

Did she think he was going to keep this secret like her other secrets?

“What about Jon Arryn?”

Grey eyes met his own.

“I did not kill him.” Her words came out slowly, as if it took great pain for her to say them. He felt some tension leave his shoulders. Fatigue set in like an inky cloak around him.

“Why Lya? What happened?”

“The world is so simple for you. Do you duty. Follow your laws. Behave with honour. Perhaps with you men, the world treats you kinder than us women.”

She sighed. She looked around her wistfully.

“I used to think I loved Rhaegar. The knight, the prince who took me away. But now, I realise that I never loved him. I loved what he represented. He gave me a choice. He promised me freedom. I wanted that more than ever. I never wanted to marry Robert, he was the ticket. With Arthur, it was because I wanted to make my own choices. I could choose whose children I bear. And he, well he was there.”

Ned grimaced. Arthur Dayne was no more than a pawn to Lyanna. He had been there when she needed him. The poor man. If it had been someone else, she would have taken them gladly, too.

“Though, now, he really snuck up on me,” she continued. 

Lyanna smiled softly, a true smile that lit up her face at the mention of Dayne. Ned heart reached out to his sister drawn away from his dark thoughts. In the end, Lyanna was still the girl who yearned for freedom. He would give it to her.

“I will allow you to take your children and Arthur across the Narrow Sea. You will be free there to live out your life in Braavos or Pentos. Travel and have adventures, Lya. Robert would not follow you.”

She bit her lip, contemplating. But her eyes flashed angrily as she stepped away from him.

“You cannot tell Robert about what you know!” she demanded sharply. “My children grew up in this castle, they see Robert as their father. They are happy here, I made sure of that. I cannot, no I will not, take that away from them.”

 “I cannot, Lyanna. It is wrong.”

“Damn your right and wrong! I will not have it another way. If you are truly an honourable man, you will do what is best for the realm. Brandon will make a good king one day.”

No, you are wrong. Ned thought sadly.

“Stannis knows.”

“So? Stannis will never amass enough men to be a threat. I have betrothed Myrcella to Brandon. The Lannisters will back my claim as will the Arryns with Joffrey as Lord of the Vale. I plan to betroth Visenya to a Martell. He will not take me or my children down. Unless, of course, you turn against you sister.”

Lyanna left then, leaving a threat in her wake. A bitter taste pervaded his mouth.

* * *

Lyanna began to fret as she left the godswood. Had she just made an enemy of Ned? Lone wolves die only the pack survives. Surely Ned would not abandon her. She did not trust anyone, especially the Lannisters, they were useful, but they would always reach beyond the borders anyone set. With Jon dead, the Arryns were as good as Lannisters now. As for the Martells, she had never met one before. Besides, Lyanna was responsible for the slight against Elia and she did become queen over Rhaenys and Aegon’s bodies. There was no guarantee they would take the olive branch she extended towards them.

Stannis was not a threat. But Ned was. Yet she could not bring herself to harm him. She had been sure he would keep his silence on this, just like about Jon. Now she was not so sure. She paced restlessly like a caged animal back and forth in her solar. With Jon Arryn dead, the position of Hand was open, Ned would be the ideal replacement.

There was only one way out, now. Something needed to befall Robert. He was never her pack. He had done nothing but treat her as he would a treasured trophy. Yes. Lyanna was sure. When Robert returned from the hunt, she would keep him away from her brother. He would be deep in his cups. Well, she has heard of men dying from too much drink before. She steadied her hands and took a deep breath.

Suddenly, a loud knock sounded. Her frightened handmaiden wrung her hands together.

“Your grace, the king…he’s been injured!”

Lyanna started. Did the gods hear her thoughts?

“Take me to him now!” she ordered.

Robert lay on his bed with bloodied gauze wrapped around his abdomen. Lyanna dropped to her knees beside the bed as she turned to Renly.

“What happened?” she did not have to pretend to take a shaking breath.

“He insisted on taking the boar…but he missed. The boar gutted him,” the young man rambled, sweat coated his forehead. “There was nothing I could do, your grace.”

She felt blond hair fall into her vision. Cersei Lannister bent down and whispered in her ear, “First the Hand, now the King?”

Her thoughts roared in her head. Robert’s death was not her doing. There was only one person she could think of capable of this. Cersei Lannister. Yet even she couldn’t magick a boar to gut Robert. Without looking at anyone, she commanded in her best queen’s voice, “Everyone leave except for the Grand Maester.”

Many feet shuffled out of the King’s chamber. Immediately, murmurs rose like a wave behind her. She could feel Ned’s glare on the back of her head. Lyanna waited for silence to return to the room before staring at the Grand Maester quizzically.

“Your grace, the king is gravely injured,” he said shakily.

“He is strong, Grand Maester. Isn’t he?”

A pause.

“I have some potions….”

Lyanna looked the old man in the eye and said, “Yes, give him what you will. Give him something for the pain. Milk of poppy perhaps? And summon Lord Stark.”

“Yes, your grace.” If he was offended at being sent on an errand like a common servant, he did not show it.

But she did not miss his shaking hands twisted around his chain nervously as he left. On the bed beside her, Robert groaned weakly his eyes cracked open.

“Lya….” he breathed. The stench of wine rose from him. Slowly, Lyanna took his large hand in hers and patted his sweat covered forehead.

“I’m here. Everything will be fine.”

When Ned entered, he kept silent, looking unhappily at Robert. His eyes flitted once or twice to Lyanna by the window.

“He would have wanted the court to carry on as normal. The deaths of the Hand has thrown everyone into disarray. Robert would want you to help keep the peace.”

Lyanna gave Ned a stern look. Now was not the time. His lips pressed together into a thin line.

* * *

Lyanna sat vigil by Robert’s bedside for several days. The news that reached of her ears were positive. Ned chaired the Small Council meetings and tried to keep the courtiers in line. He even continued to hear petitions though he always stood in front of the throne. Much to her relief, little word was heard from Stannis.

On the third day, she reduced the flow of milk of poppy. Lyanna lay his head in her lap and wiped his face with a wet cloth.

“I’m dying, Lya.”

Robert furrowed his brows in confusion.

“This isn’t the way I wanted to go,” he confessed. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

She remained silent.

“Brandon’s going to be a great king.”

“Robert, I cannot have anyone else be Regent for him other than me,” she told him seriously, peering down into his eyes.

“Of course.”

So Lyanna summoned Ned and the Small Council. Only after did she make Pycelle dictate the decree that made her Regent after his death and have the others watch the King press his seal and signed it, did she feel a small sense of relief.

* * *

Two days later, bells throughout the city tolled loudly.

“The King is dead! The King is dead!” heralds shouted through the street.

By the turn of the moon, Brandon was crowned King Brandon Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm and betrothed to Lady Myrcella Arryn.

As her first act as Queen Regent, Lyanna gave Ned Stark the position of the Hand of the King. Ned had accepted grudgingly, his sense of failure hanging over him. Failure to his sister mixed with failure to Robert. He kept his silence, but dogged with guilt.

In a dramatic shift of the small council, Lyanna Stark offered Tywin Lannister the seat of Master of Coin, arresting Petyr Baelish for corruption. In the end, his sellswords offered so little protection. Surprisingly, Doran Martell accepted her offer of conciliation. With a heavy heart, she sent Visenya to Dorne while Oberyn was en route to King’s Landing to take the Dornish seat on the small council.

As Stannis Baratheon called his banners and claimed the bastardy of the King, Lyanna responded by arresting Renly Baratheon for treason. Dornish forces collected near the Prince’s path as armies from the North began its march to King’s Landing.

Lyanna hoped this would be enough to keep the peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Ned Stark sits uneasily in King's Landing with their Northern host unable to cross the Riverlands. Meanwhile, Stannis prepares for war, the Lannisters are as treacherous as ever and Ser Barristan is having his own doubts....

One morning, as Ned walked into the throne room on his way to the Small Council chamber, he was greeted by a flurry of murmurings and activity. As he walked further into the room, he found himself staring into the dark long empty eye cavities of Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar. His jaw slackened. Three gigantic skulls were arranged around the Iron Throne, Balerion, Meraxes flanked it while Vhagar peered out from behind. Unsurprisingly, courtiers muttered and sniggered behind their hands.

Ned pulled a servant aside, a young man who twitched nervously.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

“The…the Queen’s orders, milord.”

His eyes searched for his sister.

Amid the chaos, Lyanna stood nonchalantly scrutinizing her handiwork. A small figure swathed in grey silk with hands clasped as if in prayer. There was no doubt, she had ordered this. In three quick strides, Ned crossed to her and shook her arm slightly.

“Lyanna, by the old gods and the new, what are you doing?! These skulls haven’t been seen since the Mad King’s reign.”

She glanced at him briefly and nodded.

“I’m going to pay my respects where it is due.”

Ned was aghast. His sister, despite her political canny she had shown before, was committing political suicide. Maybe, after this, she would become the Mad Queen Lyanna, the Dragon’s Whore. They were not Targaryens, they have no connection to the Targaryens. But now, every time anyone set eyes upon these monsters they would see Lyanna and her infatuation with Rhaegar. Instead of embracing a new era, they would see a woman unable to let go of her past, her long dead lover.

It would have been less insane to encase the Iron Throne with direwolf pelts, thought Ned dryly. Not that it would be any cleverer to proudly display dead wolves. Maybe direwolf skulls would do.

“Lyanna, every time anyone sees this, they will see Aerys and Rhaegar.” Ned reasoned slowly with her. “They will see a long lost family who we have no connection to… No good connection to.”

But she shook her head.  What happened next amazed Ned, Lyanna Stark laughed and slapped him playfully on his arm. He was truly concerned for her sanity now.

“Don’t you see, Ned? Aerys was a fool. He displayed all the dragon skulls, the smallest was about the size of an apple. Everybody saw how the dragons slowly died out almost foreshadowing the Targaryens dying out. Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar belonged to Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. They were the ones who united Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms. They put an end to all those petty feuds all our families had. Without them, that ugly chair wouldn’t even exist!”

Ned stared at her as she grandly gestured at the throne and skulls standing around it. It dawned on him. Lyanna intended to be Aegon the Conqueror reborn. She wanted to unite the Seven Kingdoms. It was a symbol of power rather than madness, at least in her mind. Only if it were true in the mind of others.

The irony hit him. If Lyanna wanted peace, she should just have borne Robert one son. One that looked just like him with black hair and blue eyes. It would not matter if the others didn’t look like him, the one son would have been enough. Ned wondered if she thought about this too.

“So how are the city defences, Ned?”

Lyanna’s voice drew him from his reverie. It was a mockery. A sudden turn of their conversation away from dragons and power onto familiar ground. Topic more suited for Queen and Hand rather than for siblings.

The city defences were shambles, they always were. Jory Cassel was a good commander and a fighter, but there were only so many things he could do to change ruffians and drunkards, who formed most of the four thousand Gold Cloaks, into seasoned fighters. It was recently supplemented by some Knights of the Vale and part of the Stark household guard. Yet the addition would be futile against Stannis. Their hope lay with Roose Bolton and Robb’s forces as well as Manderly’s fleet.

“Jory is directing the building of more catapults. Roose Bolton and Robb are marching through the Riverlands as we speak.” he replied slowly.

“Pray they arrive on time.”

They walked in silence in the direction of the Small Council chamber.

“Roose Bolton, he tried to marry me to his son you know.” She shuddered at the thought. “Do they still call him Leech Lord?”

 Ned had to smile slightly at that. Roose Bolton was not like most lords.

“Roose Bolton can win wars,” he reprimanded slightly.

“But not hearts. And slippery as an eel.”

“He commands. A commander need not be loved.”

“That’s true.”

Lyanna agreed sluggishly. Ned wondered if that was true for her too. Queen Lyanna was certainly not loved, yet he has no doubt that she could win wars if she so desired.

* * *

 

Ser Barristan Selmy was one of the most honourable men in the Seven Kingdoms. A very rare species indeed. Yet as he sat in the Small Council chamber waiting for the other members to arrive, he began having traitorous thoughts.

King Robert saved his life by healing him instead of letting him die of his wounds. Barristan pledged to serve him from that moment on. He owed Robert his life. Yet, when Robert tried to take down that boar in the Kingswood. Barristan stood idle and let the animal tear apart his King. He has failed spectacularly in his duty.

Thinking of kings, he remembered Aerys. Hadn’t he swore to protect Aerys too? Aerys, Rhaella, Rhaegar, Viserys and Daenerys. Yet Aerys died with Jaime Lannister’s sword in his back while he was enamoured with Robert saving his life. Had he been in King’s Landing, Aerys would still be alive. That Lannister boy would stand no chance. Barristan had failed again.

Brandon was a good boy, he has the makings of a good king with his Stark blood. A relatively good sword after being trained by Arthur Dayne. Clever too. And well-loved by the smallfolk. Maybe Barristan could try to protect the son when he failed the father. Yet something nagged him.

Lyanna Stark.

Frankly, Robert may be wet with love for his wife. Barristan never really liked the woman. He didn’t know why Rhaegar would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty in the first place. There was a vindictiveness about her, a darkness and coldness in those grey eyes he didn’t trust. At first, he thought it may have been because of Rhaegar. After all, even the best people would change after being kidnapped and raped.

But later, he realised that vindictiveness and aloofness was always directed at her husband. Lyanna Stark might have favoured Rhaegar Targaryen over Roberrt any day. It slowly dawned on him that she might have forsaken her duty to run away with a married man and wasn’t taken against her will. It seemed logical enough, a woman like Lyanna would have stirred up a storm if someone tried to kidnap her.

Besides, she was always scheming with Cersei Lannister. She clearly favoured the Lannister woman over all the other ladies at court, inviting her for tea, for walks. Another reason for Barristan to mistrust her.

Gradually, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that Robert’s death was somehow related to the Stark Queen. It was a nagging feeling he could not place. It gnawed at his insides like a parasite, growing bigger every day. He was sure Brandon trusted his mother more than anything. For that, he would never feel totally devoted to the boy at all.

Eddard Stark was a good man. Or so he thought. The Honourable Eddard Stark suited the man far better than the title Lord Eddard Stark any day. Yet he seemed to always by his sister’s side. Advising her, giving her men, fighting her battles. He was steadily becoming a participant to his sister’s plots in Barristan’s eyes. Besides, any man who stood idle was just as guilty. That really eroded Barristan’s respect for the man.

They say Northerners were honourable. He would say the Starks who control King’s Landing were far more Southron than they were Northern.

Yes, Ser Barristan Selmy has made up his mind. He couldn’t stay on as Lord Commander and watch his failures grow. Instead, he would take a leap and do the dishonourable thing. But he knew it would be for the greater good.

* * *

 

“A most interesting choice of decoration, your Grace,” Cersei mocked. She took a sip from her goblet. Lord Tywin has refused to take up the seat of Master of Coin personally, instead appointing his daughter as his replacement. A position that has bloated Cersei’s ego and sense of importance.

Lyanna ignored the remark. Let her think whatever she wants. Only those clever enough would see through her actions. Instead, she rebuked, “I did not think Lord Tywin would openly object to the actions of his queen.”

Tywin Lannister would be the few people who would have seen the dragon skulls as her warning, her ambitions, thought Lyanna. Even if he didn’t, he would let his ruler’s mistakes show to his advantage not mock them. His daughter was far less skilled than him.

Cersei bristled at the veiled insult. She so longed to emulate her father.

Pycelle was already nodding off in his seat beside Varys. He needs to be removed, Lyanna thought. The Lannister’s cannot worm their way too much into the highest levels of power. Besides, someone needed to be punished for Robert’s untimely demise. Though rather timely for her. Ser Barristan was one. But Lyanna would be fraught to see him go. Besides, he was not affiliated to any Great House. Ned sat down heavily on her left.

Brandon cleared his throat. He stretched out in his seat and shifted Robert’s crown on his head uncomfortably. He was just a boy of fourteen and the gold crown sat far too heavy on his brow. It was a rather comical sight, she had to admit. Lyanna made a mental note to have a new one made for him, a smaller, lighter one. Maybe replace some of the antlers with swords, like that worn by the old Kings of the North.

“My uncle, Stannis Baratheon has declared war on me. He claims that I am a bastard.” Brandon declared. His fists clenched. “He intends to steal what is rightfully mine!”

While the last part about stealing was delivered in a high pitched tone, making him sound more like an upset child, the beginning still came across quite strongly to the adults in the room. Lyanna felt pride swell in her chest, as she looked at her son. Her son. Not Robert’s. Not even Arthur’s. Just her son. He may become a king yet.

“Stannis Baratheon has always bore a grudge against his brother when Robert passed Storm’s End to Renly instead of him. Perhaps, this time, he has decided to claim something even better. A crown and the Iron Throne.” Lyanna said, nodding her acknowledgement at the boy king. Let them all think Stannis a worthless rebel.

“Yes,” Varys simpered. “What better way than to say the king is illegitimate? It would make him the rightful king, if his grace is a bastard.”

Lyanna narrowed her eyes. What did Varys know? She wanted Varys out too, but he was too much of a danger at this early stage. Too much of a wild card.

 “I am no bastard. He claims it so because he wants the crown,” retorted Brandon, he added thoughtfully, “He has no evidence which weakens his position substantially.”

It was sayings like these that made Brandon sound much wiser than his ten and four years. Like all boys, he loved the training yard, yet he took himself to his studies like an acolyte at the Citadel, reading late into the night. Lyanna’s advice of keeping his pen as sharp as his sword did not fall on deaf years.

“Wars have been fought for less, Brandon,” reminded Ned gently. “His claim is just trying to provide a reason for this war. It does not even need to be substantiated.”

“If he wants war, I’ll give him war!” declared the boy. Lyanna sighed, that proclamation was completely unnecessary.

“But what of this claim? This rumormongering? Surely you will not let this go?” Cersei raised her eyebrow. She was testing for weakness.

Barristan furrowed his brow and interrupted, “If her grace was to ignore this jibe, she would appear stronger than if she was to react strongly.”

Lyanna tugged on a strand of silk falling out of her sleeve. Barristan did not even look her in the eye. He did not even address her, speaking as if she was not in the room. She bristled at it. Maybe he thought it was true.

Ned nodded his assent, oblivious. Cersei let out an unladylike snort.

“I agree, it would be wiser to ignore it.”

Lyanna contemplated. Ignoring Stannis would certainly anger him. It reflects how she does not even deem his claim serious enough to warrant a response. Yes, it would certainly fall in line with the symbol of dragon skulls. Some lords would still believe it. But they would believe it if it suited their purposes. Once she put Stannis down, then no one would question Brandon’s claim.

“Ignore the jibe, Stannis’ claim is too ridiculous to even warrant a response.” She dismissed it with a wave. Instead, Lyanna asked.  “Lord Varys, what does your little birds say about the state of Stannis’ host?”

Varys feigned surprise at being addressed.

“Dragonstone is sealed off, your grace, so my little birds haven’t twittered as much as usual.” He giggled. It sent shivers up Lyanna’s spine. “But he has hired Lyseni sellsails.”

Sellswords would not help anyone win a war. Stannis was after the Stormlords. Though the Stormlords owe their loyalty to Renly. With Renly’s arrested, they might just call their banners for Stannis. Lyanna shifted uncomfortably. Arresting Renly may have been a misstep, she thought. She had just given them a martyr to fight for. She glanced at Ned. He seemed to be thinking the same thing. But, if she let Renly escape, he may still join forces with his brother. And the Stormlords had always loved Renly more.

There was something else though. She needed the Lannister host.

“All this talk of war. How about we bring about a royal wedding? A wedding between the king and Lady Myrcella.”

Cersei turned her green eyes on her. Brandon narrowed his eyes at his mother.

“My daughter is yet young,” she protested, green eyes flashing. The lioness was growing protective of her cubs.

“We just need to set a date. A jubilant celebration of our imminent victory over a rebellious lord,” answered Lyanna. Oh yes. She knew about her daughter’s blossoming into maidenhood. And with Cersei and Myrcella in King’s Landing. Besides, by tying the two families together, the Lannisters would have no choice but to support the war even more. “We will speak of this later.”

“Yes, a wedding is perfect to celebrate,” twittered Varys.

Cersei stayed behind with Lyanna as the rest of the Council filed out of the room.

“What is the meaning of this? First you send Jaime to Dorne, now this?” she hissed. “Myrcella is too young.”

“Not too young to bear my son an heir,” Lyanna retorted. The other woman paled.

“But still too young.”

“Well, if you still want your daughter to be alive and the future queen, your father must send more than gold to support our war effort. Stannis is already married. And he has no sons. Myrcella will only be queen once Stannis is defeated and married to my son.”

Lyanna examined her nails as she delivered the blow to the other woman. Cersei’s face began to flash scarlet. But victory tasted bitter on her tongue. She supposed it was godsend that Tywin Lannister asked Cersei to take his seat on the council.

“It will not be forgotten,” Cersei seethed as she swept out of the chamber.

Lyanna was sure there was going to be hell to pay. Jaime Lannister might have departed for Dorne with Visenya and Ser Arys willingly enough. His twin and his father saw this as an insult. Possibly one reason, Tywin hasn’t mobilised his men yet, even to protect Cersei. Lyanna had one card to play with the Lannisters and she hoped she played it right.

* * *

 

Ned silently handed the raven to his sister sitting by him in the Tower of the Hand. He shook his head grimly. Robb had written that Walder Frey and other Riverlords gathered at the Twins to prevent the Northern host from marching through their lands.

This was terrible news. This would delay their host’s arrival by weeks.

Lyanna’s brow creased.

“Surely, Catelyn could persuades her brother to let them march through the Riverlands?”

Ned was troubled. There was no reason for the Riverlords to become so hostile. They are still providing food supplies to King’s Landing even though the Tyrells have slowed the supply of food along the Roseroad to a trickle. It was probably some scheme devised by Walder Frey to make the Northern lords somehow indebted to him.

“Yes, she will write to Edmure.” Ned brushed his hand over his face tiredly. “But, meanwhile, we have to hope Manderly’s fleet arrives in a month’s turn.”

He unfolded a map. Pointing to Dragonstone, Marlon Manderly would sail outside Blackwater Bay providing the first line of defense against Stannis’ fleet by blockading the bay.

Lyanna studied the island of Dragonstone. Seeing there were no well sheltered bays, she remarked, “I hope a storm destroys them before they even set sail.”

Just like the Targaryen fleet, he thought.

* * *

 

Brandon examined his new crown closely. This crown was lighter, with a mixture of gold and silver, perfect for him. The antlers on Robert’s crown was still replicated but amid them, there were several silver swords, standing tall. Carefully wrought vine twisted around them as if binding the swords and antler’s together, the gold and silver intertwined. If he looked closely, he could even see tiny gold leaves.  Antlers for the Baratheons. The swords for the Starks, the old Kings of the North. Yet, North and South was bound inextricably together.

Lyanna looked at her son.

“Do you like it?”

Slowly she took the crown from his hands and placed it delicately on his dark curls.

“It’s perfect, mother.”

Brandon scrutinized himself in the mirror. He looked kingly, he thought proudly. He just needed to act like one too. Suddenly nervous, he fidgeted and shuffled his feet. He was the king. Not his mother. He needed autonomy too. Otherwise, how would he ever become a true king?

Yet Brandon couldn’t find the words to break it to his mother.  He shifted uncomfortably under Lyanna’s gaze and her hands placed heavily on his shoulder.

“What is it Brandon?”

“I want to be a king.”

Lyanna furrowed her brow, a look of confusion passing over her face.

“But you are a king.”

“I want to be a true king. A king can do what he wants.”

Coldness gripped her heart at her son’s declaration. Lyanna spun her son around looking him in the eye.

“No, Brandon. A king must do his duty. Do what is best for the realm,” she said slowly. Irony seeped through those words. Rhaegar wanted to protect the realm too. But he tore it apart instead. She sighed.

“No!”

Brandon twisted out of her grasp.

“I am the king. I should make decisions myself.”

Realisation dawned on her. Brandon was sounding more like a spoilt child by the minute. Yet underneath, she could hear his frustration. He wanted his autonomy. But he was too young, too innocent. He might think that Lyanna was using him to rule, but she was just protecting him like any mother would do.  

“The Mad King did not listen to his advisors. And look what he become. You may be a king. But you are never free to do as you wish. You must listen to counsel, good counsel. A king cannot rule alone, Brandon,” she said softly, imploringly.

The boy quieted, contemplating.

“If I am to learn, you cannot tell me exactly what to do,” he said slowly. Lyanna shook her head.

“I will only give you counsel,” promised Lyanna solemnly. His blue eyes turned on her face.

“No, you wouldn’t,” he declared. “You always hide things from me!”

Energy drained from her body.

“I’m you mother, Brandon. I’m trying to protect you!” she protested. “Trust no one around you, but for me. You are nothing if you cannot even trust your own mother.”

“You should wear this crown. Not me.”

Brandon stormed out of her solar. Lyanna sank down onto her bed.

Quietly, the door opened to reveal Arthur. There was a pained expression on his face.

“I heard.”

Guilty tugged on Lyanna’s heart strings. He was Brandon’s father. And she took that away from him. To Brandon, Arthur was just her white shadow. He slowly put her arm around her, his fingers lightly brushing across her back.

“He will understand. It’s all the books he reads. He thinks he’s too clever.”

Lyanna cracked a smile.

“I’m not trying to rule through him,” Lyanna insisted. “I’m trying to teach him.”

“Sometimes the best way to teach, is to let them fall first,” Arthur suggested.

“But the consequences would just be too severe,” she murmured.

Slowly, her mind began to clear, emptying of her worries with Brandon, Stannis, the Lannisters.

There was something very comforting about the knight’s presence. Something that made Lyanna want to disappear into Arthur’s arms and forget all her troubles for a while. It wasn’t just lust. While Lyanna would dismiss this as fanciful thinking. After all, she was no longer a blushing maid with her dreams of knights in shining armour. But deep down no matter how hard she tried to push it away, she knew she was hopelessly in love with Arthur Dayne.

But then, life came knocking back in the form of Ned Stark. He glared disapprovingly at the pair sitting on the bed. Lyanna quickly disentangled herself from Arthur as the knight stood.

“It would not do to have the grieving widow grow with child,” he admonished. In Ned’s hand was a letter, abruptly he said. “Ser Barristan has left the Kingsguard.”

Lyanna sprung from the bed, disbelieving.

“But the Kingsguard is for life!” sputtered Arthur. He snatched the letter from Ned’s hand.

“You mean he deserted?” she blurted out. It was certainly unprecedented. The man valued honour more highly than his life. He could not possibly….

“Yes, Lyanna,” Ned glanced at Arthur, hesitantly.

“He says he believes he has failed too many kings. He should have died with Aerys….. to be true to his vows,” read Arthur. Shock passed across his features. “The Targaryens are the true kings. I have failed them.”

“The Kingsguard serves the king who sits on the Iron Throne,” Lyanna growled. Ned looked suspiciously at Barristan’s sworn brother. His hand was travelling towards his sword as if expecting Arthur to declare his loyalty to the Targaryens at any moment.

“Anybody who would serve Aerys in his later years is mad!” declared Arthur, purple eyes flashing angrily. But beneath the anger, Lyanna could detect a haunted look. He looked at her. “Sometimes vows should be broken.”

Ned addressed his sister, still scrutinizing the other man.

“I’ve sent Jory to apprehend him. And offer a reward for anyone who can stop the knight.”

Lyanna smiled humourlessly.

“At least we’ll know who he’s going to serve next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a oneshot. But plot bunnies are begging for attention, so I had to turn it into a multichaptered fic. 
> 
> Next chapter, we will see the appearance of our favourite Dornishmen, Oberyn and Ellaria...


	3. Chapter 3

“Lord Elwood Meadows!” a herald announced to the courtiers in the throne room. Lyanna saw Brandon shift uncomfortably on the Iron Throne from her seat beside him. Lord Elwood was second in command to Ser Cortney Penrose who was castellan of Storm’s End. It wasn’t difficult to fathom why he was sent here.

Lord Elwood strode into the room, behind him were his guards, carrying two Baratheon banners, an ostentatiously bright yellow. The prancing stag was partially hidden by the drooping of the banners.

“Greetings, your grace, as an envoy from Storm’s End on behalf of all the Stormlords, our liege lord Renly Baratheon has committed no crime. As such, in the name of justice, we demand that he along with all of his bannermen and knights in his house guards be released immediately.”

A hush settled over the gathered courtiers as all turned to watch their boy king on the throne.

“No crime! My lord, Lord Renly Baratheon, though he is my uncle, has been plotting against the throne with Stannis Baratheon. Whose forces are going to march on this city at any moment! He has committed treason and is a traitor to the crown!” Brandon declared, standing up to his full height. Pride swelled in Lyanna’s chest, she has taught him well.

More murmurings came from the gathered crowd. Followed by some nods of assent.

“He is no traitor! Any fool would know Renly Baratheon would never civilly dine with his brother, let alone plot with him!” retorted Elwood.

“That’s enough, Lord Elwood!” Lyanna stood from her seat, too. “The king has arrested Lord Renly on suspicions of treason against the crown. However, in his benevolence, he will grant Lord Renly a trial. The Seven will judge him in his innocence or guilt.”

“His only crime is being Stannis Baratheon’s brother!” Elwood’s face contorted.

“Silence! Or you will join Lord Renly in the dungeons,” Lyanna threatened. Taking a deep breath, she addressed him again, “You will relay this message back to the Stormlords. Renly Baratheon will not be released unless he is deemed to be innocent at his trial. On my honour as a Stark, if he is truly innocent, I will not hesitate to return him to his lands.”

Elwood muttered something beneath his breath, gesturing angrily.

“Meanwhile, show Lord Elwood and his men lodgings inside the keep. Ensure their horses are well fed and rested for their journey back to Storm’s End,” Brandon called out to a servant, sitting himself back onto the throne.

“I do not need your hospitality, we already have lodgings of our own,” replied Elwood, smug. A snivelling smile flashed across his face.

Lyanna narrowed her eyes. They are refusing their Guest Right. A bad sign. Had they accepted it, it would mean they did not want to resort to open hostility. Now it seemed that Elwood and his men had more up their sleeves. Maybe they even intend to break Renly free from the dungeons, not an exceptionally difficult feat if they really had their mind set on it. She dug her nails into her palm. She would send men to have them watched and double the guard to Renly’s cell.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Varys watching her keenly. What exactly does Varys want was an enigma. He certainly did not work for one of the great houses. When he says he worked for the realm, Lyanna wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. He surely was not trying to keep the peace.

The whole idea of Renly’s trial weighed on her mind. Renly dead or alive made no difference. With him alive, the Stormlords would still go to war even if just to free him. And with Renly’s particular relationship with Loras Tyrell, the Tyrells may even soon follow suit. Killing Renly would not stop them from going to war. He would just be a martyr. As for releasing him, that simply was not an option as it would make the crown seem spineless, cowering at any imminent bloodshed.

Lyanna felt fog swirling around the corners of her eyes, as if she was treading a narrow path covered with brambles and obscured by fog. Though, she knew one thing, the Stormlands are lost.

Yet a trial would just make Brandon a seemingly just leader. And there was still a cloud of uncertainty hanging over the Tyrells. Lyanna gnawed her lip, tasting blood on her tongue.

Slowly, petitioners dwindled as a late afternoon sun slipped beneath the horizon and a gloom began to seep into the throne room, casting dark shadows across the three dragon skulls behind monstrosity that was the iron throne. Soon after, courtiers, still murmuring about the dramatic declaration regarding Renly Baratheon, slipped back to their quarters. 

Varys sidled up next to her as Lyanna made her way back to her solar with a swish of silk. A scent of lilac clogged the air around him.

“A bold choice, your grace. To give Lord Renly a trial.”

Lyanna bristled, hair at the back of her neck standing. Surely Varys was not here to just pass judgement on her actions.

“I’m a Stark. We try to give justice.”

Varys simpered.

“Yes, indeed. But surely, Renly Baratheon’s life isn’t so important, anything we are to do now would revert our path to war? Then, we can only imagine the most unusual, must we not? Say, you free him…. or, gods forbid, allow him to be broken out of the dungeons?”

She paused slightly. Did Varys hear about Elwood planning to break Renly free from the dungeons? It was certainly understandable. And she suspected as much. She continued walking, silent.

But Varys knew he had her attention now.

“Renly and Stannis were never the close brothers we would think, your grace.” He paused, staring at her with wide eyes. “When Renly was trying to escape the keep, he wasn’t planning to call his banners for his brother.”

Lyanna narrowed her eyes. Varys leaned even closer.

“He was planning to crown himself. Especially now that Loras Tyrell is stirring over in Highgarden.”

They had almost reached her solar. Varys excused himself. A pounding was beginning to start in her head. She had needed Renly as a hostage. When he attempted to escape, she assumed Stannis had covertly shared his suspicions with him, not even considering that they had never been close. Logically, Renly was to return to the Stormlands to call his banners for Stannis. But Varys was suggesting Renly had heard about Stannis’ suspicions, but was exploiting it for his own gain. With Highgarden’s support.

Now instead, her arrest of Renly only gave both the Stormlords and Loras Tyrell a symbol to fight for with Stannis.

Blood rushed into her head. Forcing herself to clasp her hands, Varys’ plan began to formulate in her mind.

Let Stannis and Renly fight each other, not united against her. Slowly, Lyanna’s heart slowed its pounding. But first, she needed to let Renly go. What better way than to have his own men break him out first? Let them first revel in their victory.

Yet, how can Stannis be convinced to attack Renly first? Or the gods forbid, that Varys was wrong and they would unite to take down King’s Landing first? The possibilities were endless, none of them seemed to be in her favour at all.

* * *

 

Trees in the Kingswood grew thick, obscuring any view of incoming travellers along the final leg of the King’s road leading into King’s Landing. Today, Ned was awaiting the arrival of Oberyn Martell and his entourage. It made him uncomfortable to think of his niece in Doran Martell’s hands even though he knew the Martells were not so perverse as to truly hurt an innocent girl. Yet it would not protect her from being exploited for her blood. Not truly king’s blood, his mind reminded him snidely.

It was a widely unfair trade, Ned thought. In return, Doran sent his brother. But Oberyn, from his reputation, was a dangerous man, perfectly capable of protecting himself even from the likes of Lyanna. He would be a hard man to manipulate.  Not like an eleven year old girl. Besides, while the Dornish had placed forces in the Prince’s Pass, Ned doubted they would do anything else. A costly alliance indeed.

His palfrey shifted underneath him, impatient after standing still for so long. Behind him, his standard-bearers held up both a Stark and a Baratheon banner. Each sigil fluttering in the wind. Soon he heard a distance rumbling of hooves and carts. One by one, bright orange banners of the Martells came into view, an orange sun pierced by a spear. Ned had never met a Martell or a Dornishman before. He had seen Elia and Oberyn at the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal but paid them little mind. They were royals, distant and unreachable. Besides, he had been too infatuated with Ashara Dayne, the princess’ companion to pay attention to the princess herself. 

Of course, he’s heard stories. About their promiscuity. And the adage to never trust a Dornishman. They had been a powerful family, allied to the Targaryens. However, at the Trident, the Dornish army was routed, scattering after Rhaegar’s death. This was followed by the slaughter of Elia and her children. It was no surprise that after Robert’s Rebellion, they merely retreated back into Dorne, maintaining little contact with any of the other houses.

Ned supposed they were a little like the North. Their culture was different from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms with their own customs. Just like the Northmen were considered barbarians, the Dornishmen were considered untrustworthy.

“Greetings!”

A woman’s voice drew him from his reverie. Riding towards the head of the entourage was a Dornishwoman, with dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes. Ned had hoped to see the prince ride out to meet him. He racked his brain, trying to discern who she was. Oberyn did not have another sister beside Elia. She was too old to be one of his daughters. Though, he was not known to have married though he did have a paramour.

“My lady, I am Eddard Stark, Hand of the King,” Ned said gruffly, inclining his head to the woman. 

She smiled widely, calling out, “The Honourable Eddard Stark?”

There was a mocking tone behind the address. Ned pressed his lips into a hard line. He peered along the train of Dornish guards and men, but he could not see the prince. The woman trotted up to meet him. 

“My lord, I’m only teasing. I am Ellaria Sand. You can call me Ellaria.”

So Oberyn’s paramour? Ned could not help but feel a little insulted. He had rode out to greet the entourage at Lyanna’s insistence. The Martells were proud, they needed to be handled with caution, she warned him. They hate us already. Do not give them more reason to turn against us. Yes, he was getting much better at deciphering the meanings of words spoken at court. A strange sort of code, but not indecipherable.

Ned might not be a proficient at intrigue and politics as Lyanna, who inherited Rickard Stark’s cunning, but he was determined he would not die because of it. Immediately, Winterfell and its inhabitants sprang to mind. Catelyn with her sad, solemn face as he rode South. Robb trying to wear the mantle of the Lord of Winterfell. Sansa’s tears as she asked why she couldn’t come and see King’s Landing. Arya and Bran’s clashing of sticks as they played in the yard. Rickon huddling Shaggy.

But in return, Oberyn lets his paramour greet them, not even bothering to greet Ned himself. A jape. A mockery. A clear message: Your family might hold the throne. But we respect you not at all. Weariness set in.

“And Prince Oberyn, my lady?”

“He was tired to the snail crawling pace of our entourage. He went ahead to the city already, my lord. It had been years since he had been here last.”

Undoubtedly the last time, Oberyn had been to King’s Landing was when Aerys was still King and his sister a princess. Alive with her children. Ned wondered what Oberyn thought now. Most definitely how much he hated Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark.

Ned shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.

* * *

 

Lyanna stepped into her solar, eyes adjusting to the dimness. She had hoped for a stiff drink and absolute silence to help contemplate the issue of Renly. But instead, she found the tension in the room so thick, it could be carved with a knife.

“Your grace, I couldn’t stop him.” Arthur Dayne stood stiffly in the center, body tense. Opposite, helping himself to her Arbor gold was Oberyn Martell. Or who she thought was Oberyn Martell, considering the sun and spear sigil he wore as a clasp for his cloak. And all the suns and spears sewn onto his tunic. Momentarily, she thought Ned would be back too.

Anxiety crawled in her stomach. She had heard that Oberyn Martell was half a madman. Quick to anger. Unforgiving. The viper. Deadly.

And she was Lyanna Stark, the woman who dishonoured his only sister and crowned queen over her still warm body.

Lyanna could not help but wonder what cruel fate he had plotted out for her. She had not expected them to arrive so early, taking her completely unawares. Arthur was still glowering, glancing at her questioningly. But she dismissed him, inclining her head, hoping he understood that she was grateful but she would be fine. He looked as if he was to disobey. He probably would stand behind the door, listening for any sign of trouble.

Straightening slightly, she dipped her head in greeting, clasping her hands together as demurely as she could, droning, “My lord, I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

Oberyn narrowed his eyes. Instead of replying, he gestured at the grey velvet runner across her desk.

“Grey is a drab colour.”

“Ah,” Lyanna pushed down her desire to bristle, smiling lightly, “in the North we have more pragmatic tastes, I’m afraid.”

Yes, that was done well. Humble, but still laced with meaning. We want to set aside our differences, act to our best interests, not driven by passion. Yet, she wondered, when it ever was possible to reason with a madman. Perhaps, Doran was clever in sending his brother. His madman of a brother, to instil fear.

She paused, “though, grey is also the colour of wintry skies and frozen lands. After all, our words are ‘winter is coming’.”

Yes, I am not so easily cowered. Not by guilt. Not by anything. Lyanna thought. As if to demonstrate, she gingerly sat down behind her desk, feigning polite indifference. They are allies. He would not so carelessly spill blood.  

Oberyn drained his goblet with in a gulp, advancing towards her. He was tall, towering over her seated form. She shouldn’t have sat down, she thought. Lyanna folded her hands across the desk. This man did not like weakness. Or euphemisms. Indeed, his coming and waiting in her solar was to intimidate. He had even left mud all over her carpet. To make her uncomfortable at this horrible breach of decorum. The Martells cared not for those who held King’s Landing.

“I would offer you wine, but you seem to have wasted no time in helping yourself to my wine,” Lyanna commented lightly, placing emphasis on ‘my’. “or in insulting my choice of decorations.”

He ignored the jibe.

“Yes, I thought the Starks were also honourable. Though, it is a strange sort of honour. Innocent children murdered under your nose. And no one lifts a finger.”

Lyanna’s jaw tensed. So now we get to the heart of the matter, she thought. Rhaenys and Aegon’s murder was not condoned by any of them. Ned had been furious about the manner of their deaths. Yet, she held her tongue. Guilt settled in the pit of her stomach. She had known about their deaths. Yet, too embroiled in her own self-pity at having to marry Robert and give up Jon that she never put another thought to it.

“No wonder, grey is indeed your colour.”

She leant forwards in her chair, grey eyes meeting black. She wondered, if she should press the point that their inaction certainly did not mean they condoned it. By the time, Ned arrived, the deed was done. As for her, she didn’t even know about it until much later. However, she knew she was treading on thin ice. But her tongue was too glib.

“My brother was furious when he found out about the sacking. It caused an unsurmountable rift between him and Robert. It had been done by the time the northmen arrived at the keep. If you have forgotten, it had been Lannister crimson that wrapped the bodies.”

Oberyn seemed surprisingly dismissive. Lyanna frowned.

“I know who did this. I want _justice._ ”

Lyanna blinked. Surely, he must have blamed all of them for the sack. Starks, Baratheons, Lannisters. Cultivating his anger bit by bit. But his candidness surprised her. While, he held no love for them, he cared little for assigning blame to all those who the perpetrators inadvertently aided in their quest for power. She considered this new possibly. Perhaps, Oberyn Martell was less of a madman then she thought.

As for the deaths of the Mountain, Amory Lorch and those others, while she cannot demand their heads, there must be other ways of bringing them about. Besides, she was sure the prince who poisons wouldn’t mind how they were to die. But it would be too much of a strain in their precarious relationship with the Lannisters.

“Thank you for your candidness, prince Oberyn. It was certainly unexpected. But Jaime Lannister is the single most precious thing that Tywin Lannister has. And your brother holds him in Dorne.”

 “Jaime Lannister killed Aerys. He might be an oathbreaker. But he did not commit atrocities against my sister and her children. I want the heads of those who did.”

Oberyn glanced pointedly at her silver crown sitting on a cushion on one side of the desk. Silver encrusted with obsidians and rubies like droplets of blood.

“How did you come to possess that crown, your grace?” he taunted.

Lyanna’s nostrils flared. She had never wanted that wretched crown. How dare he compare her to the likes of Cersei Lannister. She would be content just to do as she pleased, not trapped in King’s Landing with a crown on her head.

* * *

 

“Loras Tyrell is leading a renegade force from the Reach to free Renly. Though, Highgarden has yet to declare for anyone. Soon, I assume, the Stormlords would probably be calling for Stannis as king.”

Ned and Lyanna were sitting in the Godswood. Leaves and twigs littering the ground was enough to warn them of any intruders. The irony was not lost on her. Ned had asked her here the day he demanded that she leave King’s Landing, so horrified that a false king shall sit on the throne. Now, he was fighting and plotting with her to keep said king on the throne. A soft breeze was whistling among the weirwood. But this wasn’t the north, there was no voices Lyanna thought she could hear in the wind. Empty. Godless. Exactly like King’s Landing.

Lyanna sighed. Just as she thought.

“Varys said something to me today. He said that Renly was planning to crown himself.”

Ned shook his head in disbelief.

“He’s the youngest son.”

Lyanna smiled, glad that some part of her older brother hasn’t died. It was still honourable and dutiful Ned.

“Besides, he has only ever rode in tourneys. How can he expect to lead battles and win wars?”

She shook her head.

“No, it seems Renly believed that kings need not fight in battle. You charm others to fight for you. Ha, he would have made a fairly good queen.”

Ned grimaced, disgusted. Meanwhile, Lyanna giggled childishly at an image of Renly in a flowing green gown. Ned narrowed his eyes at his sister, perplexed yet oblivious.  

“Always, everything it takes to win the game of thrones.”

“I prefer to call it the game for survival,” countered Lyanna, shoving that awful image away from her mind. “Though, it seems that by arresting Renly, we had aided him by making him a martyr to be saved.”

“So Varys wanted him to fight Stannis, his own brother.”

She nodded, privately agreeing with Ned’s distaste. Pitting brother against brother. Especially when Stannis had always been so dutiful in caring for his younger brother. Yet, she tells herself, it _was_ Renly who wanted the crown. They simply stoked the fire.

“Varys wants us to let Elwood break Renly free. So he can fight Stannis.”

“That’s too risky.”

“Ned, you know we cannot hold off Stannis and the Reach. Manderly’s fleet is not enough to hold off anybody.”

Her mind raced. Stannis was an honourable man, but unlike Ned, prickly and prideful. “If he feels that his younger brother would steal his crown, wouldn’t that just wound his pride and honour? Maybe even enough to fight to regain his pride first. After all, Stannis cares a lot for his honour.”

Reluctantly, Ned nodded assent.

“I’ll call off some of the extra guards then.”

Though, Lyanna would swear he did look at her rather darkly.  With a jolt, she realised Ned had anticipated that Elwood may have had more up his sleeve.

 

 

 


End file.
